


1001 Arabian Deaths

by Comet360



Category: The Old Guard (Movie 2020)
Genre: At least I think. What do I know 11th C attitudes?, Canon-Typical Death, Canon-Typical Violence, M/M, Period Typical Attitudes, Period Typical Bigotry, Period-Typical Homophobia, Period-Typical Racism, Period-Typical Sexism, They get over it eventually, War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-02
Updated: 2020-08-02
Packaged: 2021-03-06 03:41:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,699
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25666858
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Comet360/pseuds/Comet360
Summary: The long, long,longroad to letting go of culturally ingrained religious persecution, racism, sexism, and homophobia.
Relationships: Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova
Comments: 6
Kudos: 90





	1001 Arabian Deaths

**Author's Note:**

> Ok I watched this movie and was instantly obsessed. Zero chill. Could not let it go. I got this out and I have a lot of ideas of where to go from here but let's be honest I'm not a writer and following through has never been a skill of mine. So I don't know if I'll ever finish this. Also I've been a long-time reader of fanfiction and I've always got the feeling that people like hang out and talk to each other about it somewhere? I mean people collaborate and gift fics and stuff right? So like if anyone wants to help me out here please reach out. pls send halp.

_These Frankish invaders all look the same_ , Yusuf thinks derisively. They all die the same as well. In the months long siege of Antioch, he has left the impenetrable walls of the city a handful of times to attack the _salibeen_ , the followers of the cross. Though the infidels’ numbers are far superior, in the dead of winter they are starving now. Weakened, demoralised, and abandoned by their false God they show their cowardly nature and dessert by the thousands. The defenders of Antioch have taken advantage of this disarray to ride from the gates and harry their divided forces. Even just a few dozen Muslim horsemen can ride from the gates and slaughter a hundred Franks before they rally to drive them back to the city. The Franks’ heavy armour may offer them far more protection than Yusuf’s padded overcoat, but it makes them slow which is deadly when combined with the stupidity and clumsiness that is inherent in their people.

Today the Antiochene garrison has launched a larger attack than usual with a thousand footmen and two hundred horsemen like Yusuf. Half of the Frankish forces had left two days earlier, presumably in search of food. The remaining army still outnumbers the Muslims two to one, and that would be if they hadn’t left the majority of their soldiers to defend the city, but as always the Franks are disorganised and slow to mount a response. Many die or are wounded in the initial onslaught. That cannot last forever however, and eventually enough of the Christian dogs gather that there will be no more victory for the Antiochenes.

“Fall back!” Yusuf calls, echoing the cry of his commander, as he assists his fellow soldiers in fending off their attackers as they withdraw. It is not an easy retreat, pressed as they are from every side. They had left in the twilight and it is getting truly dark now which adds the chaos. The infidels press them all the way to the gate, and Yusuf spots a mounted knight who is carving his way through the Muslim soldiers and rallying his compatriots in his wake. They cannot be allowed to breach the gate. If they do, that will be the end of the city.

Yusuf lets out a war cry and kicks his horse into a gallop towards the knight. The knight sees him coming and spurs his own mount into a charge. Yusuf’s mare is nimbler than the knight’s muscular stallion and she neatly sidesteps the beast as it draws close, whirling to let Yusuf try to get a strike at the knight’s neck, one of the few places other than his legs which are not protected by chain mail. The knight manages to parry and strikes back quicker than Yusuf thought him capable of but not quick enough. They clash again, and again. For all that their styles are so different – like the Frank’s horse and armour and sword, his attacks are big and direct and more powerful than Yusuf’s, and Yusuf would definitely be in trouble if not for his superior speed and agility – they are very evenly matched. For a while it seems that neither can gain the advantage but nothing lasts forever, and a stray arrow makes the knight lose his focus for just a second, allowing Yusuf’s scimitar to find his vulnerable throat. He falls from his horse who spooks and the animal stampeding in the dark causes the gutless Christians panic.

“To me!” Yusuf cries, and he leads a brief chase to drive the infidels back. It is too dark now to gain anything from pursuing them so the last of the Antiochenes return to the city once they are confident that they will not be followed. In the flickering light of the torches at the gates Yusuf sees the body of the Frankish knight. He was a worthy adversary though Yusuf is loath to admit it, even just to himself. _He wasn’t quite as incompetent as most of his people,_ he thinks instead.

But as he washes himself before the final prayers that night, Yusuf’s heart continues to pound as it has ever since the earlier battle. In training and in war he has never met an opponent that has made his blood sing like that knight. It was pure exhilaration to dance on the edge of death in such a way. It had been such a close fight every step. One mistake and it would have been Yusuf grasping at his throat as his life blood drained away.

* * *

Nicolò wakes in darkness, sucking in a huge breath that he hadn’t been able to take before and promptly breaking into a coughing fit as he chokes on the blood that coats his throat. He had died. He knows he had died yet here he is lying at the gates of Antioch where he fell, whole and uninjured. This must be God’s will. His work is not done. He has not earned his penitence yet. Murmuring fervent prayers, Nicolò swears to see His will done as he stumbles back to the Christian camp. His limbs are numb with the cold and his thoughts are slow with the shock of his death and subsequent resurrection but Nicolò is resolute. He will slaughter these dirty heathens by the hundreds to free the Holy City if needs be. He will earn his place in heaven.

* * *

In the dim light of dawn, the muezzin’s call to prayer breaks the night’s silence. The familiar notes hover over the city just beginning to stir. Even after a lifetime of hearing the _adhan_ every single morning, the beauty of it never fails to make Yusuf shiver. His mind turns to Allah as he silently repeats the muezzin’s words. Across the city every Muslim is doing the same and even as a Shi’ite in the majority Sunni Antioch, Yusuf feels an overwhelming togetherness with all his compatriots. They are all one before Allah. They are all one against the _salibeen_.

After the Fajr prayer, Yusuf rolls up his rug. “Good morning Ahmad, peace be upon you. Good morning Omar,” he greets his fellow soldiers. The three of them are not actually of Antioch but rather envoys of Kerbogha who has promised to come to the city’s aid.

“Peace be upon you, Yusuf,” Omar replies. “Shall we go break bread with the Antiochene garrison?”

At first, they had mostly kept to themselves but after months shut inside the city together, they have taken to eating together and training together with the local garrison. Yusuf, who’s family had fled west to avoid Sunni persecution never would have imagined he’d be breaking break with and fighting alongside Sunni Muslims, but the Christian invaders made previously unimaginable alliances reality. After all, as the old saying went, _me against my brother, my brother and I against my cousin, and all of us against the stranger_.

There had been much less time for making friends earlier in the siege in any case. Even between sorties they had been occupied by readying the cities defences, ensuring the trade routes were still safe to travel, gathering intelligence on their enemies, and meeting for daily war councils. Now there little more to do but keep their spirits up. For all that Yusuf knows that this fragile peace cannot last, it is an enjoyable time. In the evenings, bodies pleasantly worn out from training they tell stories and recite poetry. Ahmad is the best at it, but Yusuf is more often in demand as he is from further east and tells stories they have not heard before. Occasionally Saeed can be coaxed into singing for them and there will be clapping and dancing but he married only a few months before the siege started so he does linger around the garrison in the evenings as often as the other young men.

“Do any of you have wives?” one of the Antiochenes asks Yusuf and his men one night.

“Not I,” Yusuf answers. He cannot imagine needing more in life than this, a war to fight in and good men to fight alongside.

“Nor I,” Ahmad says, “But there is a girl back home. It is understood that when I return, I will make an offer.”

“I do! And a son,” Omar boasts, “He is only three but he is going to be a great warrior, I can already tell.”

There is teasing and laughter at that and Yusuf sits back and thinks that, yes, he is content, or at least he will be when Kerbogha leads his army here so that they can defeat the _salibeen_ and drive them out of their lands.

* * *

It is spring when Ridwan of Aleppo marches an army towards Antioch in their aid. He has taken the city of Harim to their east and as he approaches the city the Christian knights are drawn away to confront him. Yaghi-Siyan leads the Antiochene garrison out of the gates to attack the foot soldiers who have remained. They are no match for the Muslim forces and Yusuf shares a fierce smile with Saeed who fights by his side as they slaughter the men that are too slow to retreat. _Maybe today will be the day we break the siege_ , Yusuf thinks, _Allah willing._

Their good fortune does not last. The Christian knights return, which doesn’t bode well for Ridwan’s relief army. It doesn’t bode well for Yusuf and his fellow soldiers either. As the mounted reinforcements break against the defending Antiochenes one particular knight catches Yusuf’s eye. He looks just like the man Yusuf slew at the gates of Antioch when the _salibeen_ forces nearly breached the city walls. Like the last time he saw this knight the tides of the battle are turning away from their favour and Yusuf tries not to see it as an omen.

 _These Frankish invaders all look the same_ , Yusuf thinks, but he is shaken this time. He might not be able to tell their faces apart, but he knows the way this man swings his sword. He knows the power behind it, and that fluidity, the economy of movement. He is sure this is the man he cut down before. _I must be mistaken. It has been months_ , Yusuf tells himself, shaking off his preoccupation. Whoever he is, this man is killing their people and he needs to be stopped. _You must first master yourself before you can master the sword_ , Yusuf was taught. He calms his heart as he faces a different knight whom he injures and forces into a retreat. Another knight takes his place but Saeed rushes in to engage him.

A flash of steel from the corner of Yusuf’s eye makes him spin around and he barely moves fast enough to fend off a strong blow from a _salibi_ knight. _The_ knight. Yusuf is on the back foot from the start and he can’t stop himself from searching this man’s face, searching for similarities with the knight he slew in the flickering torch light that winter night. Between his helm and his unkempt beard, it is hard to make out the features of his face. His skin and his hair and his eyes are pale, like a carpet whose colours have faded from being left out in the desert sun for too long. That is true for many of these Franks though. Yusuf’s distraction is his undoing. This time it is he who missteps and the knight drives his sword through Yusuf’s chest. Yusuf chokes on the visceral pain of it and then screams as the knight jerks his sword free and moves on as the battle swirls away. There is no time for fear or regret. He falls to his knees, gasps one last breath and dies there, alone but for the bodies of those already slain, both Muslim and Christian.

* * *

Yusuf wakes alone. The smell is the first thing that hits him, the sharp copper tang of blood and the stench of opened intestines. It is the smell of the battlefield. Yusuf coughs and sits up. It is late afternoon now where before it was morning and he is surrounded by bodies just as he was when he died. He looks down at his chest. There is a hole torn through his overcoat which is drenched in blood but when his fingers probe the opening, he finds only unbroken skin.

“ _Sid_!” a man’s voice calls out, “ _Sid_ , are you alright?”

Yusuf turns, getting to his feet. He sways unsteadily and the man catches his arm. “I was struck,” Yusuf replies. His voice sounds dazed and far away even to himself.

“My name is Saleh ibn Khalid al-Fulan,” the man says, “Let me help you back to the city, brother.”

“Thank you, Saleh ibn Khalid. My name is Yusuf ibn Ibrahim al-Kaysani and I would be grateful for your assistance,” Yusuf says. He feels firmer on his feet already, but his mind is in such a state of confusion that he will not turn away the steadying presence of another. “Tell me friend, what happened here today, in the battle?” he asks as they make their way back to Antioch.

Saleh frowns. “The _salibeen_ defeated Ridwan. He took his army and fled back to Aleppo. They in turn returned to Antioch and we had to retreat back behind the gates. We are both collecting our dead now. I apologise, _sid_ , we thought we had retrieved all of our wounded earlier, but we must have missed you.”

Yusuf’s hand comes up to rub at his chest. He had felt the sword enter his heart, he had looked down and seen as it was wrenched from his chest. He had died. There is no doubt. He knows it as he knows his own name, as he knows the daily prayers, as he knows the sun in the sky. “There is no need for apologies, my friend,” Yusuf says. “You have found me now, and Allah has spared me to fight another day.” They will need every soldier they have. If Ridwan has not managed to even hold onto Harim he cannot be counted on to come to their aid.

Back in Antioch Saleh tries to take him to a physician but Yusuf refuses. “I must go to a hammam,” he says, “It is getting late and I need to perform _ghusl_ before the sunset prayer. Allah will keep me in his sights.”

Saleh looks doubtful. “ _Sid_ you are covered in blood. You must get your wounds tended to. You have been doing Allah’s work. He will understand if you cannot make it to sunset prayers.”

“There is no need,” Yusuf insists. “I just have to cleanse myself so I can go to the Mosque.”

“Then let me accompany you,” Saleh says. In truth Yusuf needs no assistance any longer but Saleh has been kind to him, and he cannot disrespect that.

“Come then, friend,” Yusuf says, though he’d rather be alone. He has much to think on.

At the baths propriety keeps Saleh from watching Yusuf too closely but from the corner of his eye Yusuf can still see the disbelief on his face as the blood and grime are washed away to show unblemished skin. He feels the same way himself. It is not just his chest that has healed but also a raw scrape on his leg which he’d gotten earlier in the day, not to mention that he usually collects scratches and bruises during every battle but today he has none. He is as fresh as a newborn babe.

There is no time to linger and marvel which is probably for the best. Soon the _adhan_ is called out and they must go to the Mosque. Here at last Yusuf has an excuse to leave Saleh as he prays with the other Shi’ites and Saleh is one of the majority Sunni. The ritualistic prayers ground Yusuf, a constant when it feels like everything else has fallen away. It also gives him clarity. Allah has given him this second chance and Yusuf promises not to waste it. This second life of his belongs to Allah and he will use it to fight the _salibeen_.

**Author's Note:**

> Glossary.  
> I got all this stuff from Wikipedia so correct me if I'm wrong!  
>  _salibi_ : a follower of the cross, the Arabic term for a crusader. Salibi is singular and salibeen is plural.  
>  _adhan_ : the Islamic call to prayer.  
>  _muezzin_ : the person who sings the call to prayer.  
>  _Fajr_ : the first of five mandatory daily prayers in Islam.  
>  _hammam_ : a public bath.  
>  _ghusl_ : the full-body ritual purification before prayers. There's also a shorter version but I figure after a battle you need the full one.  
>  _sid_ : mister, or sir.


End file.
